


Let me tell you a story about war.

by Anonymous



Series: Kinktober 2019 [18]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Ending, Credence prefers to be called Aurelius for now, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It of Sorts, Gellert Grindelwald Being an Asshole, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Role Reversal, i despise fantastic beasts 2 and continue to ignore it as canon, magic muteness [brief]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 20:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21082784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: People like to think war means something.What can you learn from your opponent? More than you think.Who will master this love? Love might be the wrong word.[thanks Richard Siken you're my hero]





	Let me tell you a story about war.

**Author's Note:**

> this is by far the most downer ending story so far, and again, it's a simple stand alone fix it, of sorts.  
there is no happy ending in this world for Graves and Credence, or as he thinks he prefers, Aurelius.  
but it felt fitting to make things like this, it's a bittersweet reunion, and they do find some brief happiness in each other.

Graves is no longer his own man, he’s Grindelwald’s attack dog. 

He goes out with clean hands, an empty conscience, and returns with blood on his black latex gloved hands, alongside yet another kill to weigh on his heart. This time when he comes back to the castle, something feels off, different. 

His nostrils flare. “We have a guest, my dear Director.” It’s a mocking tone, even for Grindelwald and it makes Graves grit his teeth in anger. “Oh yeah? Who have you brought to our righteous cause now?” To his shock and dismay, it’s two. Queenie Goldstein, more than the  _ last _ person he would expect to join Grindelwald’s cause, besides himself, then Credence Barebone, the sad broken nomaj. “I thought you hated nom-” Graves breaks off, spotting the wand in the boy’s clutches, and Grindelwald’s glittering smile behind Credence’s back. “Show him.” He says.

Graves watches as Credence lifts a wrist, barely flicking it just to the left of where he stands, and a massive explosion sounds. He glances behind himself to see a chunk of the mountain crumbling down into the valley. 

“I hope you didn’t just destroy some poor goat herders farm.” Graves’ tone is dry, but there’s a hint of caution to his words. Credence doesn’t look bothered, or even aware of the destruction that he has just wrought. 

So the boy is the obscurus. That’s the only logical explanation. 

Grindelwald has had Graves chasing lies, ever since the beginning. He’s not even very shocked at this point. 

When Grindelwald told him to step down, and leave the locating of the obscurus to him, Graves obeyed, frankly, out of self preservation. He’d been getting too attached to Credence, beyond the point of danger.

Any idiot should know better than to start having a sexual interest in their expendable informant, but Graves never claimed to be less than human. Now, it turns out Credence is more than just Grindwald’s pet project, he’s his  _ pet _ assassin. Does this mean Graves should fear for his job security? As it turns out, no. He’s simply going to be monitoring the boy, and as Grindelwald tells him, with far too much relish, “Get reacquainted with one another. Now that you’re going to be working together.” Graves quirks a brow at Credence, and gets a slightly softened glower in response. “How nice.” Grindelwald says, before leaving the room, one arm firmly obvious around Queenie’s shoulders, leading her away. 

Lucky for her, the legilimens skill she possesses unconsciously will keep her alive, and useful. 

But only as long as she cooperates, Graves thinks. “What did he mean by that?” Credence asks suddenly. Graves blinks.

“Do you not remember me? Our meetings?” The boy flushes scarlet. “Oh. I thought that was just Mister Grindelwald.”

Graves takes it as a compliment to the man’s imitation skills, that Credence never suspected the switch. “Ah, no.”

Credence apologizes, but it hardly comes off as sincere. “I guess I was too caught up appreciating the attention to notice.”

“As he said, we can become friends again, I’m certain.” Graves says. 

Credence huffs a breath. “Friends? That’s all he wants from me? As you, he was more than friendly. Healing my hands, whispering in my ear, taking me out for dinner. I’m not stupid, Mister Graves. I know what he wants. Do you?” 

Graves doesn’t protest, he’s just disappointed. Every single moment they ever shared will be colored by doubt now. 

If it was really between them, or something Credence is recalling that Grindelwald did with him, as Graves. 

“No one ever said you were.” He says, attempting diplomacy. Graves hasn’t the faintest idea what Grindelwald is up to by putting them both together, and he’s not sure he wants to know. “ _ Actually _ now that I think about it, he _ did _ . It was him, because you aren’t lying. He called me an idiot, useless. He’s yet to apologize to me for that.” Credence all but snaps.

Graves blinks. Grindelwald is stupider than he thought, if indeed he had resorted to goading an obscurus like that, having figured out what he was. Unless… he  _ hadn’t _ yet known, or was simply provoking Credence into revealing his power. Either way, foolish. “I apologize on his behalf. That sounds like he was being incredibly rude for no reason, Credence.” The boy flinches. “Don’t call me that. My name is Aurelius. Dumbledore. I’m his little brother. Unwanted, of course.” 

He sounds very bitter. Graves is floored by  _ this _ revelation, unsure how to respond. 

“I see. That is unfortunate. Were he to know of your existence, I have no doubt he would accept you with open arms. From what I’ve heard, Albus Dumbledore is said to be-” Credence, no, Aurelius cuts him off with a sudden flick of his wrist, wand conjuring up a silencing charm so quick and sudden Graves cannot possibly hope to block it. 

“Spare me, Mister Graves. I’m not interested in your excuses or platitudes. We’re here for one purpose, so lets get on with it, shall we?” That purpose remains somewhat of a mystery for a good few seconds, until the boy shoves open the balcony doors, and marches out through them, perching himself onto a chaise that observes the mountains and below. 

“Come. Join me.” He says, or rather, demands, and Graves, still kept mute by the strength of magic unknown, obeys. 

It’s unpleasant, pretending to go along with Grindelwald’s every whim, and though Credence feels a pang from the man using his supposed true name, what hurts far worse, cutting deep as the marrow to his bone, is both  _ seeing _ Mister Graves again, as well as hearing his name in that gentle caressing voice. He finds that he almost wants to die rather than hear it. So he uses his magic in the only way he knows, virtually gagging Mister Graves so he cannot speak a single word instead. Credence swallows thickly, and waits until the man has seated himself, before climbing onto his lap, putting his wand aside, and leaning in to kiss Mister Graves, as he’s been desiring for so long. 

“You may touch me, stop immediately if I tell you to. Understand?” He opens his eyes to see Mister Graves nod, blinking twice as well. “Excellent.” Credence doesn’t ask for the man’s consent, because it’s more than obvious. 

Mister Graves  _ wants _ this too, craves Credence’s body on his as badly as he does the man’s. 

It’s been over a year since Credence has seen the man, far longer since it has really been Mister Graves, apparently, so he’s more than making up for lost time. Mister Graves kisses like a man starved, using the strength of his arms, as well as his skills with wordless magic to slowly and gently undress Credence, while he does the same, but by hand, no magic.

His fingers tremble on richly designed fabric and carved mother of pearl buttons, revealing more and more of Mister Graves’ hairy chest, broad shoulders. 

Eventually, he realizes that his entire body as it happens is littered with scars, just like Credence’s. It seems there are more things that they have in common, rather than what makes them different, he thinks. 

Credence doesn’t hold back a moan when the man’s lips leave his mouth in favor of his neck, the curve of where it meets his shoulder. He’s naked now, as is Mister Graves, impatience winning over the original plan of slow seduction. 

Credence’s cock throbs, grinding as he is into the firmness of the man’s abs, shuddering when Mister Graves’ hands slide down his bare back to grasp on his ass, squeezing lightly. He likes it. “I want you to put me in your mouth,” Credence breathes, and Mister Graves huffs a breath into his ear, before nibbling the lobe in a positive affirmation. 

He lets himself be guided to lay back on the chaise, while the man moves off entirely to kneel between his spread thighs, both hands now cupping the back of his ankles, guiding Credence to drape his legs over Mister Graves’ shoulders.

Here he lets the man take some control, kissing slowly from the bend of each knee, until Credence is aching for more, and Mister Graves grants it, holding back by keeping his hands braced over his hips, while his mouth descends onto his cock. Credence’s back arches off the chaise, but the man doesn’t let him fall, or squirm away, tongue curling against the underside of his length, laving the crown, lips taut around him. Mister Graves’ eyes flutter closed, and despite the lewd noises his mouth makes on Credence’s flesh, he’s not the one who’s trembling and growing hot in the face. 

Both of Credence’s hands find their way into the man’s hair, messing it beyond repair from anything short of a spell, and he starts rocking his hips slowly, thrusting in deeper, as Mister Graves swallows, adjusting to his movements. 

The man lowers himself over his cock until the cool press of his nose is buried in Credence’s pubic hair. “Oh jesus…” He’s on the verge of climax, he thinks, very sure only when one of Mister Graves’ hands slip around and up, beneath his ass, not to squeeze, but to rub fingers over Credence’s cleft, teasingly close to his hole. “God! I’m going to-!” 

His mouth opens on a silent scream, which tapers off into a low groan, as Mister Graves only retreats enough to keep the head of Credence’s length in his mouth, catching every pulsing drop of his release, dragging out his orgasm impossibly long. His legs feel as if they’re made of jelly, and Credence fights to breathe steady as the man finally lets him out of his mouth, returning to sit beside him on the chaise. 

Mister Graves appears remarkably put together, despite the betrayal of his arousal standing upright, curving into his stomach, flushed a deep reddish purple at the tip. Credence’s mouth waters, but he gulps down the excess saliva, and inhales a shaky breath, using every last bit of his strength to crawl over to the man, tilting his head just so, exposing his jaw, already littered with bruising love bites from Mister Graves’ well appreciated enthusiasm. 

“Prepare me… with magic.” Credence demands softly. He lifts a leg to straddle the man’s waist, and settles down atop his thighs, locking eyes with Mister Graves once more. The man licks his lips, and puts that same hand behind Credence’s back, two fingers gently tap on his cleft, before there’s a sudden rush of heat down his spine, and he gasps at the feel of slick where it normally would never emerge. He’s starting to feel more and more out of his depth. 

Mister Graves is smirking, lightly, and Credence feels his jaw tighten. 

“Don’t you dare look so overly confident at me. Contrary to what you might assume, this isn’t my first time.” 

It is perfectly true, so he does see a satisfying fall to the man’s expression, some of the glassy pleasure in his eyes dims, but instead of being giddy, Credence feels a pang of guilt. He’s not some damsel in distress, nor a pure maiden waiting to be ravished by the prince who has come to rescue her for his reward. Credence never wants to be vulnerable like that again. Mister Graves puts his other hand to his own cock, attempting to line up and push in, but Credence sits up on his knees, resting a hand on the man’s neck, thumb pressing into the soft underside of his jaw. 

The other hand he settles atop Mister Graves’ shoulder. “No. I say when you fuck me.” He says.

This is  _ not _ the Credence he knows, and maybe never knew. Graves feels like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to explode the second the boy finally grants him entrance, which is blessedly not too much later, and when he does sit down on his cock, it’s with the most rapturous expression. So maybe fallen angels do exist, and Graves has got his hands on one of them. 

While he has to remain silent, Graves can  _ touch _ , until Credence tells him otherwise, so he frames the boy’s waist with his hands, and  _ feels _ every muscle twitch as he rocks over him. Rising up, falling down, never once letting Graves’ cock slip all the way out, keeping him on the cusp of orgasm, Credence knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s very good at it. The jealousy that flared up originally when the boy told him that Graves wouldn’t be his first has fallen into a dull sort of pang, like a knife wound two days in to healing. Credence begins to grow less steady in his movements, and Graves can only hope this means he’s on the verge of another climax, which, as it turns out, he is. Prostate stimulation alone isn’t nearly enough for Graves these days, but Credence is young, sensitive, despite pretending or playing at being detached. “Oh god, yeah, just there.” He can hear the boy saying, cutting off with a low cry, then going perfectly still over him, clenching down on Graves’ cock  _ hard _ . It’s very good, the tightness, the heated grasp of muscle on his length, but Graves is determined not to give Credence the satisfaction of coming when he’s told, or rather  _ bidden _ . He’s stronger than that. 

“What’s the matter? You’re still hard.” The boy finally says, sounding breathless, all but glowing from his second orgasm, the evidence of which begins to cool and grow sticky on Graves’ stomach. He just smiles at Credence, shrugging. 

“Enough.” Credence’s hand leaves his throat, and lowers to stroke and play with his nipples.

“Oh, am I allowed to speak now?” Graves says, voice a touch raspy from disuse. “Yes, I want to know why you’re not coming.” Credence sounds on the verge of a pout. “I’ve got a touch more self control, you see.” Graves says. 

He knows very well that he’s playing with fire at this point, but he doesn’t much care. 

Credence suddenly has his hand on his throat again, but not to silence Graves, to shove him down onto his back on the chaise. “Keep fucking me then, I  _ want  _ you to come inside me.” Credence says, his dark eyes turning grey, shifting to white. Graves finds this striking, while terrifying all at once. “Oh, my dear boy, what has become of us?”

Tears are beginning to sting his eyes, but he blinks them away, too aware that they’re merely a sign of frustration, not weakness, as Grindelwald would have him believe. Within seconds, Credence is crying too, huddled over him, moving with little jerks of his hips, panting against Graves’ chest. “Please, please, I  _ need _ you to do this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Graves puts a shaky hand to the boy’s lower back, feeling the ridges and dips of his spine. Credence is slightly thinner now than he was a year ago, if possible. Not to mention the hair. Whoever gave him this haircut deserves a knife jabbed down their throat. “For you, darling, I will always come.” Graves whispers. 

Credence grinds down on him, and there’s  _ something _ pressing into the cleft of his ass, solid yet not all at once. 

Graves takes this to be some of the boy’s magic, and he’s more than grateful for the little bit of extra stimulation. 

When he does finally claw his way to an orgasm, he drives up as hard as possible, buried deep into Credence’s hole, filling him to the brim. Both of Graves’ hands dig hard into the boy’s back, clinging to him, a bit, as he rocks through the waves of pleasure, long fought, vanishing all too quick, leaving him cold, and empty. Credence moves off his softening length, and curls up on the chaise, looking out at the mountains. Graves hears him say something akin to them being free. 

“You really think you’re free? As a bird in a gilded cage, maybe.” His tone is so bitter, he might as well be swallowing bile. Credence’s eyes flicker over to him, returning to their normal black, and Graves sees him squirm a little. “Yes.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> day 18: ** Role Reversal | ** <strike>Fucking Machine | Latex | Xenophilia </strike>


End file.
